


Was This The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships (And Burnt The Topless Towers Of Ilium)?

by Iamasortofvillain



Series: Love And Ownership Couldn't Be More Opposite [1]
Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Death Note, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28697769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamasortofvillain/pseuds/Iamasortofvillain
Summary: A vague attempt at plot more like an excuse to indulge in Damie's domestic smut with added fluff
Relationships: Dani Clayton & Jamie, Dani Clayton/Jamie
Series: Love And Ownership Couldn't Be More Opposite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103900
Comments: 18
Kudos: 108





	Was This The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships (And Burnt The Topless Towers Of Ilium)?

**Author's Note:**

> And then she asked me would you _yes_ to say _yes_ my mountain flower and first I put my arms around her _yes_ and drew her down to me so she could feel my breast all perfume and her heart was going like mad _yes_ is said _yes_ i will _yes_

Looking for an apartment is exhausting, especially when Jamie, stars in her eyes and a dopey smile on her face, deems every narrow two-bed-one-bathroom a perfect match and you learn a few new and exciting things about her.

One, Jamie apparently has no standard for living accommodation whatsoever, as long as it's not too far from a small shop for-sale she's got her eye on, a place that will fit perfectly in your shared fluffy dream of a flower shop, where Jamie could get her hands dirty in soil and you could stay close to Jamie and help with costumes and keeping with the books.

You've spent almost six months traveling around The States, and though you're not making grand plans (you're not making plans at all), you make a few offhanded comments about needing a permanent place to stay, which followed two days later by Jamie bringing home an armful of local newspapers and magazines with ads of available apartments.

(Home is a small room in a crumpled motel by the edge of the town, a shabby two-story building that shares a car park with a petrol station and a grill-house).

You find a place two weeks later, walking down a busy street after a successful meeting with the owner of the shop Jamie is ogling. It has one bedroom and a huge bathroom, an open kitchen, and a door that squeaks and proves to be somewhat of a problem, but it also has beautiful glass doors leading to a small balcony and something about it feels right.

You grab Jamie's hand and nod and nod and nod and the landlord smiles warmly at the both of you and asks if neither one of you have husbands. You blush and stutter, but Jamie doesn't even flinch. She spills some complete random story that sounds tragic enough to cut any following questions short, but not too dramatic to raise suspicion and when the landlord walks out to give the two of you some time to wander around, you swat at her arm.

"What?" Jamie's laughing her care-free laugh, an evil glint in her stormy eyes. She shrugs as if to say _'no big deal'_ and you can't contain the smile that spreads on your face, dopey and huge and completely lovestruck.

You feel young and reckless.

Because the door is closed and there is no sign of movement behind it, you let yourself push forward and rest a tentative hand on Jamie's shoulder.

"You really like it?"

Your voice echoes, bouncing off the empty walls. Jamie is looking at you with a dare in her eyes and leans forward, close enough that her breath is warm and moist against your lips. Her eyes are dark and there is a subtle tug on her mouth that says she's a few moments from doing something dangerous.

"Yeah," she says with a twist of her mouth. "Could be home. Why not".

Sparks pop and ignite in your stomach as you close the last breath of distance between you. Jamie's crooked smirk melts against your mouth and for a moment you forget where you are. You reach up and slide your hand behind Jamie's neck as you deepen the kiss. When you pull back (when Jamie's hands start inching up your back in a way that means _trouble_ ), you are left with wanting more desperately than before.

"Home," you agree.

You move in on a Friday, and you don't have much stuff. A sofa, the colour of mustard, and Jamie's plants, which she managed somehow to collect over the few months you spent in a small rented room above a hardware shop, just before moving to the remote motel. You also bring some pillows, a small tv set that doesn't fit anywhere but your bedroom, and an enormous painting that you hang on the empty wall in the corridor. As times goes by, you buy shelves (and then more shelves and more shelves) and there are many many many books stuffing and overflowing rescued bookcases and old restored drawers and there's a dusty gramophone player sitting next to a pile of vinyl records in the living-room.

Every day there are more and more things appearing out of nowhere. Henry sends a letter and an apology for taking liberties and buying you a huge bed, something he claims to do out of sheer obligation. Owen calls, long-distance, and coaxes out of Jamie just how empty is your kitchen. Hannah, sighing loud enough for you to hear all the way from Paris, just makes sure you have enough things to keep you warm in the cold Vermont winter and says she'll try to stop Owen from sending across the Atlantic more than two boxes of frying pans and pots and knives.

"Man's obsessed. What do I need it all for? can hardly cook," Jamie yells all over the house, though she doesn't say it to Owen when he calls again.

When the bed arrives, Jamie swears on nails and crosses and crowns and Hannah's candles that she'll make sure you're not sleeping on the floor anymore, though when you come back from a very necessary errands run, Jamie – smiling her cheeky smile, clad in cut off shorts and a dark flannel (a combination that makes you blush) is busy setting up new potted plants in the living room, no evidence of her toolbox in sight, whistling a tuneless song you can hardly recognise.

"Shit," she says when you open the door and you know you're going to spend another night inside a sleeping bag. "Poppins. You already back? Thought I had a couple more hours to get started on that bed of yours".

"You're kidding me!" You laugh, and when she just keeps staring, you exclaim, loudly: "Jamie!" and storm into the bedroom, followed by a smirking Jamie who at least has the decency to blush before easily distracting you with hot kisses down your throat and searching hands and a ticklish tongue.

You soon find yourself pressed against the standing mattress, that's resting against a naked wall, Jamie's solid weight pushing you back, fingers tangled in your hair. Your own hands find Jamie's hips, gripping tight as she grinds into you. It doesn't take much to slip your hands under her cropped top, press against the soft heat of her skin, and Jamie moans into your mouth as you drag your fingernails along her back.

You're struggling to pull her shirt down her shoulders, the top over her head, and Jamie is laughing against your neck, intimate and easy and vibrating, swollen lips dragging against you. Then your fingertips skim over Jamie's ribs and there is nothing soft about what follows.

Your arms slide around Jamie's back, Jamie presses a thigh into the heat between your legs and her touch on your sensitive skin is warm and electric and it's more than one kind of contact.

It's fast and easy and hot; Jamie, palming your breasts, kissing down your neck. Jamie, yanking your jumper over your head and tossing it and your bra aside. Jamie, forcing you gently forward, groaning as her fingers settle between your legs, trembling and strong and soon you think you're going to combust.

It's a little messy but it's home.

Secondly, Jamie _loves_ distracting you. This one doesn't come as a total shock, but you're a little surprised just how quickly things get dirty with her having her mind set on keeping you from assembling your new place.

You try to cook dinner (a horrible mistake) when two semi-clean hands circle your waist from behind and Jamie presses to your back. It's always random and always welcome and never something you want to put a hold on. You lost count of how many sauces you've burned, how many cycles of laundry you left in the new shining machine (courtesy of Hannah), how many times you dropped warm tea mugs and paper plates and forgot to fold the towels in favour of letting Jamie make you sigh her name in that special way.

The first time it happens you nearly choke on the forkful of spaghetti you're shoveling into your mouth, and if Jamie realises the magnitude of her close proximity, she doesn't comment on it. It gets easier in time, though no less distracting

It's very hard to concentrate with her around, even after almost eight months of sharing a small space together.

Jamie has a way of shifting her weight from one foot to the other, gazing at you from across the room, which sets your pulse skyrocketing. She doesn't even have to touch you. It's her eyes, in a packed restaurant, her hand on the back of your neck, skimming lightly, platonically, in dark move theaters. It's the way she breathes into your ear in the dark empty street, nothing platonic about her.

Inside your forming apartment, a place that goes from being a 'house' to being a ' _home_ ', Jamie slides her fingertips under your waistband, blunt nails scraping along the edge of your underwear and you forget all the plans you had made for the evening.

(Jamie, to be fair, isn't the only one doing the distracting. You lose count of how many times your breath was snatched away at the look of her small frame in the kitchen, in the corridor, inside the bathtub. You lose count of how many times you swallowed her surprised whine as you dipped your fingers between slick swollen lips, watching the glow in Jamie's beautiful eyes intensify).

Third, and one of your personal favourites (a hard thing when it comes to Jamie), for someone who made it completely clear back in England, that she'd rather cut her garden to shreds than play Super Mario Bros, when Miles suggested it during one particularly rainy day (since Flora never liked it and you were too easy to beat), Jamie has a strangely large collection of Nintendo Entertainment System games, and turns out she's quite good at it.

You don't have much time to spend in your new shiny apartment, which slowly becoming a home as the weeks pass. You're too busy with conferences and moving trucks and huge orders and arrangements. Henry made it clear it wasn't a gift but an investment (which made Jamie feel better, but you made sure to let him know on your next phone call it wasn't working on you) and now you and Jamie share not only a home but a business together, something you always wanted to try but never had the nerve to go through with.

More often than not you end up staying in the new forming shop past midnight, and when you get home it's a sort of fever to get the both of you out of your clothes. Usually, you end up in your underwear long before Jamie takes off her jacket and the result is you standing stark naked in the middle of the apartment while a fully-clothed Jamie paces around, gleefully letting her hands burn hot against your skin, an aroused smile on her face and a few encouragingly dirty words on her lips. But you give as good as you get and soon enough Jamie is naked too and pressed to your front and she's devising new ways to make you blush.

And fourth, she's really really awful at math.

You find this out when you're going over the first big order of additional flowers to the shop, on a Sunday afternoon.

"Jamie," you say in alarm and sit straight on the sofa, where you've been lounging while Jamie made a half-hearted attempt at shepherd's pie in your new fully-equipped kitchen, frantically following Owen's elaborated instructions from a small pocket notebook stained with grease.

"Poppins," Jamie is near you in a blink of an eye, a worried expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

"How did we end up with sixty-four green planted bowls?"

"What?"

When you lift your head from the list you had printed neatly on your typewriter, Jamie's face is one of absolute horror.

You can't help but laugh because when you sit together and check in-depth, it turns out the order had to be calculated and then divided in half for it to make the right number, which turns out Jamie completely blocked from her mind when the cute couple from a farm not too far from your hometown was explaining his wife's trade.

"Wondered why that fuckin' bloke looked so confused," she murmurs, and you laugh and move to hug her because Jamie looks completely mortified and your heart is swelling in your chest. She wraps her arms around you and buried her nose in your neck, miserable and small.

"It's alright," you tell her with a smile and a pack on the lips. "It's not too bad".

"Poppins," she breaths. "It's way too expansive".

"Nothing we can't handle." You assure her and watch your favourite smile bloom on her scrunched up face.

"I love you," you say and you've said it more than once in the past few months, always deliberate and loud and clear, and though Jamie is yet to say it back, you see the twin sentiment blooming in her beautiful eyes and she kisses you a hard heated kiss, snatching your breath away.

"But please," you say when Jamie's mouth falls open, when all she can do is arch her back into your thursts, as she clutches aimlessly at the carpet, at your hips, gasping and moaning, pleasure rising to nearly unbearable levels.

"Let me handle the orders from now on".

Jamie's about to backfire some smart replay, but you curl your fingers inside her and she's hurtling over the edge with an unintelligible scream that still rings in your ears long after her body has cooled down.

Sharing an apartment with Jamie, and a business, is essentially a slightly more challenging, slightly more domestic, slightly less scary version of what you did back in Bly. Minus the shaking hands and unknown future. Plus a proper bed which Jamie finally assembles and a proper cooker that you can burn waffles and pancakes and pasta on.

There is also more floor for Jamie to leave muddy footprints on, more space for her to stuff with books and potted half-dead plants, more room for you to discard pants and shirts and fall in a heap on perfectly new rugs, no landlords or barging neighbours in sight, no kids to take care of, no worries you'll be caught in the middle of kissing a wet path down Jamie's fluttering abs.

It's a new kind of intimacy, walking in after a long morning on the phone, filling out tax paperwork and going through the store's finances, and finding Jamie lounging on the sofa in nothing but her underwear and an unbuttoned flannel thrown over her naked body.

She's reading a book you finished yesterday and as you lock the door, she peers over its edge and winks.

You don't even think about it when you settle over her, legs on either side of her waist, and lean down and kiss her over the edge of her book. Jamie's hands are wandering to the back of your thighs, pushing up your skirt, and you taker the book from her hands and place it (with noticeable care) on the floor beside the sofa.

There's a little snickering as you clumsily struggle to pull her up and Jamie makes tiny soft noises, her tongue sliding gently over yours and all you can do is gasp into her mouth and push down into her lap and grab her wrist with a wide-eyed expression.

"Poppins, what – "

But you pull her hand between your thighs and Jamie grins and doesn't say another word.

Jamie's lips latch onto your throat, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses up the side of your neck, gently sucking on your skin. You throw your head back, grit your teeth, and your hips move frantically, out of sync with the steady rhythm of Jamie's strong calloused fingers. Jamie's hand, the one that doesn't work between your legs, is roaming up the side of your body, cupping, massaging your breasts, playing idly with your nipples under your jumper. It's driving you crazy and so is Jamie's quickening pace as she rubs over your clit, pushing deeper in, curling her fingers.

Jamie kisses you a languid, sloppy kiss but neither one of you can concentrate long enough on kissing, so you rest your foreheads together and you pant against Jamie's face.

"Was it a good day?" She asks with real interest and a smidge of cheekiness.

"Good day," you pant against her, ready to say anything and everything to keep her moving her hand between your legs. "Such a - such a... _gah!_ A good day".

It doesn't take very long for you to careen over the edge, and Jamie swallows your moan with a kiss as you come hot and fast and dirty on her fingers.

//

You're still going on little adventures from time to time. You visit Henry, Miles, and Flora in Florida, you make a road trip across the country, you even visit your mum and Judy in Iowa, Jamie's hand clasped tight in yours.

Judy hugs you tight and kisses your cheek and tells you how proud she is of you, and how happy she is to find you so well and happy. She looks at your and Jamie's linked fingers and she sheds some tears, which scares you because you don't know if you can handle Judy's disgusted look, her rejection, but turns out they're happy tears. She tells you about Carson, something you should have known, in retrospect, and when you're leaving, Jamie gets a bone-crushing hug of her own, which leaves her teary and a little dizzy for almost half an hour later.

Your mother is less happy to find out about you and Jamie and she ignores Jamie completely during the whole visit. It's frustrating and you're shaking with bottled rage by the time you leave. Jamie has to physically restrain you from going back inside the house you used to call your own and telling your mum exactly what you think.

The third day, after you go back home ( _home_ ) and fall to your usual happy routine, Jamie reminds you of a conference she has to attend for the whole afternoon tomorrow so she has to leave early.

You're in the bedroom, changing into a simple t-shirt you're not sure which one of you actually owns but smells mostly like Jamie (fresh earth and sweet perfume and mowed grass) when Jamie appears in the doorway and asks shyly if you want to come with her.

She moves behind you and wraps her arms around you, then kisses your neck softly. She's warm and smells like flowers and you wriggle around in her arms and kiss her affectionately.

"You only have one ticket," you say brightly, the thought of the fifty-minute drive making you a little queasy, slightly nauseous, and you shake your head. Jamie is smiling at you and then she leans forward and kisses you on the cheek.

"Well. Right, then. See you later, Poppins".

You tilt your head back to kiss her on the cheek. Then you kiss the corner of her mouth, and when you brush your lips together.

"Whatcha gonna do here all alone?" There is no trace of laughter in Jamie's face and you don't want to part with her any more than she does, but she has to go and you can spend the evening on your own.

"Think I'll call Hannah and Owen. If they'll pick up. Maybe try to make dinner".

"Burn the building down while I'm gone. Good thinking." She jokes, a scratched laugh erupting from her chest. You smack her shoulder.

"I'll be back in a few hours," Jamie says by the door, lingering with one foot in. "If I find you've not been relaxing, there will be serious consequences".

You beam at her, dopey and in-love and you give her one last kiss before locking the door behind her.

You contemplate calling Hannah and Owen, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, calculating hour differences, and you end up calling Judy instead. She demands updates on your travels since you last spoke (a few days ago) and other details about your life after leaving Iowa. You still can't believe she isn't angry at your abrupt departure or your new partner, but Judy seems strangely pleased. You tell her about Bly and the kids, you tell her about your six months travel through America, and you tell her about Jamie. You leave out some parts of your story, the lady in the lake and the absurd amount of sex that has occurred since you and Jamie got together, and while chattering on at top speed about England and how unexpected your meeting with Jamie was, you make eggs and heat up some leftovers from the refrigerator. Judy is telling you about her's and Mike's divorce when you hear the door unlock and Jamie is back.

"Judy," you breathe out, panicked and embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I've been keeping you on the phone for hours!"

Judy laughs in your ear. "Oh, my sweet girl. I'm so glad you did. Please tell Jamie I'd love to have you both back as soon as possible. And please – have a good night".

Jamie is humming faintly over the rustling of her taking her jacket off and you say a haste goodbye and hang up the phone. not two seconds later, Jamie strolls around the counter, dumps a paper bag full of groceries on the island in the middle of the kitchen, and immediately moves to get to you.

She slides up behind you, greeting you with an affection laced, "Hi, Poppins." Her arms wrapped tightly around you. She nuzzles against the back of your neck and leans forward to press a kiss against your cheek.

"Hey, there".

You lean back against her when she hugs you tighter. "How was it?"

"S'alright," her voice is raspy in your ear. Low. Almost grumbling. "How 'bout you?"

You're having trouble focusing with her hands on your hips and her focus fully on you. It's distracting, having her so close, her chin resting on your shoulder from behind, her scent invading your nose, assaulting every cell in your body, setting you ablaze, your nerve endings turn to live-wires and heat pulls at your lower stomach.

"Yeah," you manage to breathe out. "It was okay. Had a chat with Judy, and, erm…"

One of Jamie's hands slip under the hem of your shirt, idly stroking the bare skin of your hip, the other brushing your hair off your shoulder. She presses her lips against your neck, dusting soft kisses across your skin and sighing gently against you when you tip your head to the side, exposing more of your throat to her.

"And?" she prompts.

"Nothing," you squeak.

"I missed you, Poppins," she murmurs into your ear. "Spent my evening thinking about you".

It's only been a couple of hours, but you missed her too and so you mutter it in reply.

"Yeah?" She says, smirking against your flesh.

"Yeah," you breathe out.

In one fluid motion, Jamie spins you around and pins you against the counter with her hips. She leans forward and kisses you. You don't think when you loop your arms automatically around her neck, pulling her closer. Jamie's hands roam over your back, slipping down to stroke the small of your back gently, just above the hem of your underwear.

Jamie is peppering kisses down your throat, tongue swiping over the faint marks that are still visible under your jaw, from a couple of nights before. Then her hands slide back and trail across your stomach.

"I have a problem, Poppins," Jamie mutters. Her hands slowly move upward and you both moan simultaneously when she reaches her destination. Jamie growls at the realisation you're not wearing a bra, and you moan at the feeling of her hands squeezing at your chest, palms grazing your peaking nipples.

Because Jamie's tone isn't serious, you let her get back to kissing you, brushing her tongue against yours and sucking on your bottom lip, while her fingers pinch and roll your nipples, tiny hot sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

"Jamie – "

You tangle your fingers in messy brown curls and tug involuntarily when she pushes her thigh between your legs, her hips grinding against you slowly. One of her hands slides down from your chest to grab you from behind, tight and needy, and she urges you to rock against her harder.

"Jamie, what's the – " you pull back enough to catch the sight of the heavy lust present in her stormy dark eyes, eyes that are usually somewhere between grey and blue with a hint of green. Jamie leans her forehead against your and smiles at the breathless noise you make when her fingers graze the edge of your panties.

You want to ask what she's talking about, which problem is she talking about and what can you do to help, when Jamie drops to her knees, and peels your underwear down your legs, kissing the tops of your thighs as she goes, and pushing them to the side on the floor. Jamie scraps her short nails lightly up the side of your leg and she stands back up, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Then she rests your foreheads back together, watching you with dilated pupils and an almost-smirk, her trademark troublemaker's lopsided smile, as she slides her hand between your legs and presses her fingers, cold and familiar, against your clit.

"Oh, god – Jamie!" You groan, her name's a filthy sound in your mouth. Your head falls back and Jamie immediately leans down and kisses your neck. She sucks and nibbles across your throat and over your collarbone, smiling against you when you whine her name in breathless little whimpers while the pressure of her fingers increases.

It's unbelievably easy for Jamie to turn you on, it's almost embarrassing, but you can't bring yourself to be embarrassed with her, especially now, not when her fingers are making perfect circles around your clit and she pants your name, your real name, right into your ear.

The edge of the counter is digging into your back, pressing uncomfortably against the fading bruise on your lower back from the time when Jamie fucked you senseless into the living room rug, too eager to wait until bed.

Jamie bites on a particular sensitive spot under your jaw, sucking harshly and you sigh and writh against her. You squeak, tugging at her hair to get her attention.

"Wha' is it?" She hums, moving her mouth up to your ear and chuckling at the desperate moan you let loose when she slides her fingers lower and presses the tips of them against your soaked entrance.

"The counter is digging into my back," you whine, your hips jerking forward when Jamie bites at your ear.

You start to care less and less about the counter with each movement of Jamie's fingers. They're back on your clit again, and they've speeded up to rub harder and faster against you. You're two seconds away from telling her to keep going, to forget you ever said anything, to fuck you like she means it, when Jamie, tentative and careful Jamie, who doesn't ever do anything to hurt you even in this wild state, pulls away completely.

"Jamie – " you whine.

But there's a smirk on her lips and a wicked glint in her eyes and she's all but purring into you, "Got a better idea, Poppins," her accent's thick and raw and she's taking ahold of your hips and spinning you back around to face the counter, her palm splaying out on your back and nudging you forward until you slump onto your elbows. Jamie leans forward, her front is pressed completely against your back.

"I – " you choke, hot with a new surge of lust and Jamie laughs a low, dangerous laugh.

"Reckon you look good right where ye'r".

And It’s all the warning you get before two of Jamie's fingers are sliding knuckle deep inside you, and your mouth is falling open in a long moan of pleasure. Jamie's other arm wraps tightly around your waist to hold you up as she quickly sets a fast rhythm, sliding in deeply, curling her strong fingers, then pulling out to slam back in again.

One of your shaking hands is gripping the edge of the counter hard enough for your knuckles to go white, while the other reaches up and back to tangle in Jamie's hair to pull her head down. you moan as she litters kisses all over your neck and shoulder, smiling and happy and obedient.

Jamie whimpers into your ear each time you tug on her hair too hard, twisting her fingers deep inside you, pressing them against the spot that makes your legs shake. Her other hand slips up your shirt again, pawing at your chest. Her fingers are warm now, almost hot enough to burn, and you like the way her roughened tips press into you.

Because she's Jamie, and because it's written in her blood, in her heart, in every piece of her being, she rasps in your ear.

"You still alright, Poppins?"

And it's all you can do, panting and sighing and moaning quietly.

"Yes. Yes. _God, yes_. Jamie – !"

You attempt to move your hips backward to meet her thrusts in an attempt to get closer to the orgasm you can feel building up embarrassingly quickly, but with the way Jamie has you trapped in between her body and the counter, you’re basically immobile and completely at her mercy, a realisation that sparks a white-hot pleasure up your spine, sends a new wave of wetness down Jamie's pounding fingers.

Jamie's thumb presses against your clit, rubbing rough circles against you while she bites at your earlobe, whispering lewd comments about how much she likes fucking you like this. This part is new, Jamie talking to you during times like this, when neither one of you feel particularly tender, where the need for release is stronger than the need for closeness, knowing full well it would have never worked if it wasn't for the intoxicating combination of the both of you.

"C'mon, Poppins. C'mon. Can feel how close you are".

"Right there," you pant, and you know she can feel it in the way you move, in the way your muscles clamp around her.

"Jamie, _yes_ …" and then: "Right there. Right there. _Right there_ ".

Jamie's fingers curl inside you, and you moan out her name desperately, your eyes squeezing shut and your entire body shuddering as you clamp down on her fingers and your orgasm hits you like a train.

Jamie's hand, the one that was on your chest, drops back down to hold onto your waist when you slump bonelessly against her. She slides her fingers in and out a few more times gently and lovingly and with deliberation, your breath hitching when she slowly drags them fully out. You lean your head back against her shoulder and turn your head to watch her sucking her fingers into her mouth, a whimper escaping her lips, quiet and needy when she tastes you.

The subdued heat low in your stomach roars back to life at the sight of Jamie licking her fingers clean, so you turn around in her arms, grab onto the collar of her shirt and pull her forward into a deep kiss.

Jamie presses forward, her hands reaching out to rest on the counter, trapping you in between it and her heated body. She's radiating heat like a small oven, like an open bonfire and your hands come up to the buttons on her flannel shirt, undoing them clumsily, and Jamie pulls away with a soft chuckle that doesn't hold any sort of teasing quality, her eyes so dark they're almost black.

“Christ, Poppins. Always so impatient.”

“And you’re not?” You shoot back with a smile, deliberately brushing your fingers against the swell of her breast when you reach the buttons there, smirking at the way she shudders under your touch.

This is something you will never get tired of. Having her blushing and shuddering and shaking against you, so shy and soft, where moments before she was fucking you with holy benediction.

“Fancy moving to the bedroom?” Jamie suggests, leaning back slightly so she can watch you finish unbuttoning her shirt and push it over her shoulders.

You shake your head, murmuring, “Too far away, want to fuck you now,” and then leaning back in to kiss her, placing your hand on her shoulders and pushing down until she gets the hint.

This one is also part of all the new things you get to try with Jamie. You were never one to swear, and you still having trouble with certain words when you're fully conscious of your mouth. Being raised in the middle-west left a certain amount of friendly charm and a polite strick in you, and it's only exclusively in times like this that you find yourself using such words.

Looking into Jamie's beautiful eyes, where a storm erupts at the sight of you, saying those words to her, it isn't dirty. It's exciting. It's hot.

The wooden floor is a little cold when your bare legs make contact with it, but you promptly ignore it when Jamie follows your lead, stripping her jeans off — deliberately peeling them off slowly and putting on a show — before sinking to her knees and straddling your lap. She reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, tossing it to the side, chuckling slightly at the expression on your face, before pulling you into another kiss.

You still get slightly overwhelmed seeing her unclothed, even after seven months of being with her, so your hands flail about for a second, trying to decide which part of her to touch first. Making the decision for you, Jamie takes hold of your hands and puts them on her waist, giggling into the kiss.

"Try this," she says and you sight.

Jamie's hands slide into your hair, short nails scraping lightly against your scalp as she tilts your head up to get a better angle, and then she kisses you again.

Tiny soft noises of contentment fall from Jamie's lips when you detach from her mouth in favour of dragging your lips across the sharp curve of her jaw. You feel her quiet moans when you nip a trail down her throat, grazing your teeth across all the sensitive spots on her neck. You kiss across her collarbone, sucking a bruise into the base of her throat, and feel her fingers tightening in your hair, holding you in place and nudging you closer to her chest. When you eventually wrap your lips around her nipple and suck gently, Jamie whimpers, all but melting against you.

The fact that you do this to her, making her mewl and sigh and moan with just the lightest of touches is more intoxicating than any beverage and any drug. Nothing compares to having her in your arms, legs wrapped around your waist, writhing and moaning and whimpering for you to touch her harder.

"Christ," she sighs and neither one of you is religious but you blush anyway. "Dani… Dani…"

Your fingers start tracing light patterns on the backs of her thighs at the sound of your name tumbling past her lips. Jamie's hips roll down, grinding against your lap with feverish neediness and she whines desperately when there isn’t enough friction. You hum quietly against her skin, trailing kisses across her cheek towards her ear, nibbling on the lobe gently.

"Tell me," you whisper. "Tell me what you want".

" _You know what I want_." She growls and it's such a desperate sound you almost lose control over yourself.

You know that if you took her hand now and guided her back between your legs, Jamie, beautiful and attentive and brilliant Jamie, will forget about her own desires, her own need for release, and spend ages if needed coaxing another orgasm out of you.

The thought sends a hot spike of lust down your stomach.

"Yes," you mumble. "But tell me anyway." And you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning when she answeres in a feverish whisper, right into your ear, a low breathy whimper bordering on desperation.

“ _I want you inside me"._

Tonight you don't plan on torturing Jamie. Some other night, maybe. Some other time, maybe. But tonight you happily comply, sliding your hands towards her last remaining piece of clothing.

There’s a bit of awkward maneuvering while you attempt to get her underwear off, but then she’s back and she's straddling you, gloriously naked and dripping wet. Jamie sighs out in pleasure when you stroke your fingers between her legs, before pressing them against her entrance.

"Dani," she sighs and you watch, captivated, as she sinks down onto your fingers, her eyes fluttering shut and her head tipping back, a wave of messy curls falling around her hunched shoulders.

"Jamie," you answer because you want her to know you're here, here and present, here and watching and Jamie buries her face into your shoulder as you start to slowly move your fingers, her breathy hoars moans echoing into your ears as she rocks her hips down, seeking your touch, meeting your thursts.

You splay your hand out on her lower back, encouraging her movements, while your mouth presses kisses to every inch of available skin you can reach. She tastes like salt and like Jamie, familiar and wonderful and good. You double your efforts as you taste her sweat on your tongue.

Jamie's back arches and she throw her head back, whining out a desperate _'fuck, Dani! Oh my God, Dani_ ' and when you curl your fingers and brush a thumb against her clit, she lets out a guttural moan that makes blush rise high in your cheeks.

“Jamie," you murmur. "Hey,” you press on her back with your palm to nudge her back forward. Jamie's eyes are open, a storm swirling inside them, her pupils are dilated and she's staring hungrily at you, mouth slightly open, not half as collected as she usually is.

“Jamie," you whisper again, forcing the words past swollen throat. "Come to me".

"I'm here," she manages to choke out.

"I want to watch you”.

Jamie leans forward to rest her forehead against yours, arms sliding around your shoulders and clinging to you with true desperation as you pick up the pace of your fingers. Up close, Jamie's eyes are almost completely black where they’re gazing into yours with a heady mix of lust and love, her breath coming in labored gasps that you feel against your mouth. She’s so wound up just from touching you that it doesn’t take her much longer to tumble over the edge, gasping your name against your lips as her nails dig into your shoulders and she clamps down, hot and wet and tight around your fingers, your name a repeated prayer on her lips.

You slip your fingers out of her, licking them clean before wrapping your arms around her and bringing her closer to you. Jamie slumps into your embrace with a content sigh, leaning her head on your shoulder and nuzzling against your neck.

"What?" You whisper, a smile of your own tugging stubbornly at the corners of your mouth.

Jamie pulls back with a laugh, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek as she goes. "Getting a bit old for this. Gon' be one hell of a bruise tomorrow".

You are laughing, wondering if you look as dopey and lovestruck as you feel.

"I love you." You tell her and Jamie is looking at you, raw and open and scared, reflecting words she isn't yet ready to say out loud, eyes full of it.

She leans forward and kisses you.

"I know," you tell her. "I know".

//

Neither one of you get nightmares very often anymore, your beast in the jungle a distant presence, quiet and content, Jamie's dark shadows something long forgotten, but sometimes you wake up short of breath, sometimes Jamie's mumbling is broken and whimpery and you can make out her brothers' names, sometimes you both have trouble going back to sleep, dreading the darkness.

It's almost four months now since you moved into your apartment since you built a shop people like stepping into, since you started moving with an easier step, when you're slowly slipping back to consciousness and you realise the noise that had woken you up is Jamie's voice, muttering quietly something you don't really catch.

You assume she's just talking in her sleep, as usual, she does that sometimes when she's not as exhausted as usual, but then you catch words that break your heart, words like _no_ and like _please_ and like _take me_ and like _Dani_. She begs for someone to spare you, and once she starts whimpering about her father, you realise her dream is a jumble of all the horrible things that had happened to her.

You gently shake her awake, murmuring her name quietly until her eyes spring open and she blinks quickly, staring around the room wildly like a caged animal. Then her gaze lands on you and her rigid body relaxes.

"Jamie," you say slowly, reaching out but not touching her, giving her the chance to wake up fully before attacking her senses. "It's just a dream. You were dreaming," and then, because it's something she says to you more often than you can count: "It's okay. It's okay".

Jamie gaps and collapses into your embrace, sniffling quietly. You brush her hair out of her face, smooth it over her forehead, and kiss the top of her head lightly.

"It's okay." You say.

"Okay," she parrots back at you, muffled into your neck where her face is pressed, and you rub your hands up and down her back until she stops shaking.

Jamie has her hands tangled in your shirt and she runs her thumb under the hem.

"Do you want a – "

"You," Jamie interrupts, an edge of fear and an edge of impatience that is never really there any more lacing her words, sudden and sharp, and she leans forward and places a soft kiss under your chin. "Just want you, Poppins".

Your hands find their way into Jamie's hair, Jamie's fingers slide down and under and you kiss. Jamie tasted like sunlight, sharp and surprising and warm.

Jamie's hands curl into fists, drawing your bodies closer still. Her mouth is insistent and you want to say ' _it's alright. We have time. All the time in the world_ ' but you don't know that and you may not even know that and so you let her push you back, going willingly under her pressing palms.

Jamie's lips are soft and damp, a welcome distraction. She kisses the corner of your mouth, the valley of your chin, the soft hollow of your cheeks. Jamie's eyes are wide, reflecting the dim silvery light of the moon that's partially visible from behind the light curtains over your bedroom window, and there is something in her gaze that makes you feel suddenly safe and at the same time, in profound trouble.

Tentatively, with all the gentle precision of pulling back a bowstring, Jamie brushes her fingertips over your stomach, just under your ribs. you gasp and tense and Jamie furrows her brows.

"You're here," she says, insistent. You barely recognise the thin whisper of her voice.

"I'm here. Jamie, I'm right here".

“Is this okay?”

You swallow and nod, your eyes focused on Jamie's parted lips and she leans forward, and you sight as you taste the sweetness on her tongue, a sort of surrender you're only ever willing to grand Jamie.

She kisses you softly, very slowly until you melt and burn. Until you're arching your back and then, as if you haven't spent over half a year touching each other, she hesitantly reaches behind you to fumble with your shirt. Lust tugs at your insides and your breath catches for the hundredth time.

"Alright?" Jamie, always so worried, always so tentative, looks at you with a storm in her eyes.

" _Yes!_ "

Jamie peels your shirt off in one motion, her fingers twitching, her eyes fixed. She looks at you and you feel faint, your tongue thick and lazy. It's absurd. You've seen her looking at you in different situations, with her head between your legs, with both of you breathless and panting, in a hundred little places, a hundred little times, but now it seems like you've never had her looking at you heavy-lidded, with kiss-swollen lips and this sort of a nervous expression.

It's ridiculous. It's unbelievably hot.

You lower your head and your hair, blonde and long, serves as an obstruction. Jamie reaches out and closes her hand over your hip and your head snaps up. Jamie's eyes are awfully hopeful, her expression so open you almost sob.

Instead, you kiss her for ages, dragging your teeth over Jamie’s lips, sucking on her tongue, licking into her mouth until you're trembling against each other. You pull off her shirt, lift it as high as you can before you get to her chin and you have to break the kiss to get it off. Jamie's silver necklace gets caught in her hair and neither of you laughs, manoeuvering heatedly, placing hard kisses against each other, Jamie assaulting your clavicle, you almost biting on her shoulder.

"Lie back," you command softly, pushing against Jamie's shoulder. You hover over her with purpose, focused. You want to show her just how much she means to you, scared or happy and always so loving.

You have to do this.

Jamie arches into you, giving and taking with equal voracity. She bites your lower lip, then soothes with her tongue. Her knee comes up between your legs and she pushes it up but you press your hand into her hips.

"Poppins, what are you – "

You take the band of her black underwear between your thumb and forefinger. It’s soft. Not as soft as Jamie's skin, but pleasing all the same. With a flicker of a smile, you begin to peel it down at a torturous pace, dragging blunt nails down Jamie's thigh as you go. Jamie's on her back, with all her brown hair, fanned out around her, golden twisted in her curls. Jamie has her lip caught between her teeth and her eyes are dark and heavy, her left ankle pressing against your shoulder.

There is a reason, you think, why artists paint their lovers. The attempt to hold on to this memory will consume you, as you kneel between Jamies’s legs, removing her panties down her legs.

Jamie is watching the process with a dreamy intensity and when she raises herself slightly, eyes still trained on you.

You bend down and trail your tongue across the smooth ridge of Jamie's collarbone before sucking a bright red mark just below it. You can almost taste the blood rising to the surface and you force your teeth to stay gentle, not to bite too hard. Jamie makes a gasping noise beneath you and you smile at her, just a small stretch of your lips, barely there. You watch her tilt her head back as you trace your fingers across her too-visible ribs, reading her like braille. Jamie stops wiggling when your fingers brush against the sides of her breasts.

She is soft and you bend your head and take a dusky pink nipple into your mouth, sucking at it greedily while Jamie gasps and gasps and gasps as if all the air has been vacuumed out of the bedroom.

There is a sudden surprising flicker of pain as Jamie's fingernails rake up your arm and Jamie looks at you, scared.

"I'm so – "

You kiss her, hot and hungry and biting and Jamie groans into your mouth. Her groans are suddenly different, wilder, more desperate and the kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated as you forget about poetry and abstract emotions. Jamie cants her hips up and chants in a begging sort of tone.

"Please, Dani. Please, please, please".

Your lips brush under Jamie's strong jaw, where her skin is flushed bright red.

"Tell me," You say softly. "Jamie. Tell me what you need".

"I need to touch you".

The desperate plea makes you shudder and Jamie pushes up on her elbows and closes her lips around your neck. She bites down on your pulse point and you almost choke on your tongue. Jamie had more practice than you, and it shows in times like this. You barely have enough presence of mind to understand what's going on.

Pleasure intermingles with a small bloom of pain, just the right amount, and you barely have time to recover when Jamie's quick fingers disappear into your hair. Her pupils are dilated as she watches you and there is no more wonder and no more fright and she is watching you with restless desire.

Jamie lets out a glorious cry when you insert your leg between hers. You lower yourself, skin against skin, and Jamie grinds against you, panting into your mouth, chasing something just out of her reach. Jamie shudders into your touch as your fingers pull at her nipples, rolling them and teasing them while you swallow each of her trembling moans. Moans then become a cry of protest when you remove your knees.

"No, Dani! What – "

You take a moment to kiss her cheek, to mollify her with a sweet, chaste gesture that seems almost out of place in the current situation. And then Jamie's shuddering when you slide your open palm against the flat expanse of her stomach and _down_ , between her legs.

You breathe out little excited pants, the air leaving your lungs wat too fast. Just the thought of touching Jamie, of having her unravel beneath you ins enough to make you dizzy. Gently, ignoring the way Jamie's hips rise up impatiently (the only time Jamie allows herself to be impatient with you is during times like this), you stroke the insides of her thighs, our fingertips already wet and slick with her desire.

You move a slow trail up and when you brush against Jamie's soaked centre, so hot she's almost burning, Jamie arches up with a cry to a god neither one of you believe in.

"Shh," you murmur, leaning forward to nudge your nose against Jamie's. "It's okay. You're okay".

You have no idea where those words are coming from, but you don't stop to think about it. Jamie's biting down on her bottom lip and she's nodding, frantic and lost and gone and you move your body over hers, covering her from the outside.

Jamie bucks up, rotating her hips against your feather-light touches, whimpering as you swirl a finger around her clit, up and down and around, around, around. You want Jamie to feel this, to be here, with you, but you suspect that Jamie has been flung out into the ether, her body reduced to a single, wanting vessel and she moans.

You're not kissing anymore. There is only Jamie's ragged pants into your mouth, her eyes shut.

"Please," she whispers as you push a finger inside her and you wonder if Jamie even notices. "Please".

She's so wet you slide in easily, gently. When you add another finger, Jamie's eyes fly open, so dark they're only pupils surrounded by a thin ring of grey, splinters of green and blue, and precious tiny gems around.

You fuck Jamie slowly, your fingers an extension of your pulsing body. You raise yourself up higher on your elbow and watch Jamie beginning to come apart. Her fingers bruise your upper arm, the other hand is tangled up in the gold and silver fall of your hair. Jamie pulls when you push your fingers up and forward, making a choking noise at the back of her throat.

"Yes," you whisper into her. "That's right. Come on, baby. Come for me".

In all your life, you've never thought those words will come out of your mouth. You never thought you'd have someone like Jamie in your bed, rocking on your fingers, gasping and moaning, pushing calloused fingers into your arm as she hold for dear life.

You've never seen someone moving so beautifully.

"That's it. That's it".

You swipe a thumb against the side of Jamie's clit and then circles it and Jamie shatters beneath you, like she's made of crystal glass, except it's not the wetness of champagne on your palm and you think, in a sort of blissed wildness, this must be how stars explode.

You watch Jamie fill her lungs with air. Her ribcage expands and contracts and freezes for a moment when you pull your fingers out and sucks on them with eyelashes aflutter. Jamie watches you through half-lidded eyes, her mouth pulled into a wide, euphoric grin.

"C'mere, Poppins," Jamie yanks on the mess of hair still between her fingers and you sink into her with a soft sigh.

Jamie smiles against your mouth, seemingly unable to mute her ecstasy, her tongue all sugar and satisfaction. You kiss softly, unhurriedly despite the way your body shivers and trembles. Jamie doesn't comment on the pathetic little whimper that echoes through you when her hands come between the two of you to cup your breasts.

"You alright?" You ask as you feel yourself being pushed back as Jamie sits and wraps her legs around you, bringing you so close to her that you can almost feel the blood rushing through her veins.

"Yeah," Jamie sighs softly into your mouth, whispers across the line of your jaw, down the curve of your neck. "S'alright. More than alright, to be honest".

Jamie traces a slow, wet trail down your chest, against the curve of your breast and you still in her arms, body frozen in inarticulate ecstasy when Jamie's soft, greedy mouth closes around one nipple and she sucks hard, eliciting a low, broken groan from deep inside you. 

"Alright?" Jamie makes sure and you cup the back of her head as she draws a nipple between her teeth. Jamie's hair is damp with perspiration and your fingers get caught in the complicated tangle that is her curls. When Jamie bites down, your shudder from somewhere deep inside, an unfolding and unclenching of self only Jamie is able to rise in you.

It takes her a moment to realise that Jamie is looking at you with her wide eyes as she considers and appraises, your lust addled mind tries to make sense of the expression.

"Alright, Poppins?" There is a playful grin on Jamie's mouth and she pushes you down and onto your back and there's a warm and wet pressure against your stomach where Jamie is straddling you.

You lost yourself in Jamie, in her touch and her kisses and her low groans.

Tomorrow, you know, is going to be tricky getting up in time as to not be late for opening the shop, but at the moment you don't care. At the moment, your hands go automatically to Jamie's waist and Jamie is leaning forward, a cloud of beautiful hair around her hand, and she kisses you.

Jamie's fingers are light against your side, soft enough to tickle and you squirm and gasp against the promise of Jamie's mouth as Jamie's fingers brush the inside of your thigh and then up against the pooling moisture at your centre.

Jamie eases up then, and with her gaze fixed on you, she lifts her fingers to her mouth and licks them, the pink tip of her tongue darting out experimentally. There’s something overwhelmingly erotic about the sight of Jamie, naked and poised above your with glistening fingers caught between her lips that makes your head go fuzzy.

You blink languidly, your thoughts are so slow and heavy as if you were intoxicated.

“You are so beautiful," you whisper and Jamie moves down your body, pausing to kiss the underside of your breasts, the dip of your navel, the full curve of your sex.

"You're beautiful, too. So beautiful".

You wait, tensed and trembling, paralysed in anticipation. Seconds move like hours and you strain up, to see Jamie between your thighs, her face screwed up in concentration as if attempting to solve an equation. You would have laughed if you weren't embarrassingly aware of the slow trickle along the juncture of your inner thigh.

Jamie's gaze suddenly flicks up and you are staring at each other for an eternity, the air between you crackling and hot. You reach down and trails the back of your knuckles against Jamie's cheek and her eyelashes flutter. So young, you think suddenly and something inside of you twists and pulls painfully, but then Jamie smiles – a thin wisp of a smile and she's your Jamie again, familiar and strong and solid.

Then she dips her head and you are lost. The air leaves your body in a rush, a gasp of release. Jamie is placing lingering kisses against your overheated flesh before darting out her tongue and you're already coming apart at the seams, you know it won't take long for you to tumble over the edge.

You throw an arm over your face to block out the dim light of the streetlight just outside your window. Jamie runs her tongue along soft, wet ridges and curves before swirling it around and around. She's very good at this and you fight back a cry.

"Go on, then," Jamie murmurs against you, voice husked with overuse, her lips clamping over you and sucking your pulsing clit into her mouth. "Let me hear you".

You lose the battle as Jamie looks up, startled at the sound you let out, not ready for just how loud you get, and your hips buck up, in search of her tongue, now criminally hidden behind lips and teeth.

“Don’t - ” you gasps, willing Jamie's head back down, “ – stop.”

There’s a brief flicker of smugness on Jamie's face before she returns to her task. In any other context, with any other person, you probably would be slightly embarrassed at how quickly you're reaching the breaking point, but with Jamie, it’s welcome and necessary. You feel yourself arch up and go spinning off - all broken moans and the two dragged out syllables that make up Jamie's name, wondering briefly if there is any chance your neighbours are deaf.

You must have dozed off because the next thing you know is Jamie whispering into your ear.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Jamie's voice is roughened with sleep and raw from screaming, a throaty sort of growl.

"What?"

"Woke you up, didn't I?"

You smile against her hair and tighten your arms around her in response. Sometimes, Jamie – beautiful and wonderful and brilliant as she is, has just too much to carry on her shoulders. And you want to tell her, to explain that you'd rather spend thousand sleepless nights with her in your arms, and not sleeping soundly alone. You want to tell her so many things, and Jamie's eyes are raw and wet and terrified, so you just say nothing and you lean in and you _kiss_ her.

It's messy, imperfect, Jamie's hands gripping your back, your hand trapped between you, the other in her hair, and you're distantly aware that you've had less than two hours of sleep and tomorrow is a working day and you are still pulsing, wet and slick, from earlier. Jamie's mouth is cool against yours and it's a wonderful sensation, one you never sure is quite real, even after almost a year of kissing her.

Jamie is not kissing you back and you break away in a violent jerk, panicked you overstepped. Sometimes, when you wake up from a nightmare, you can't stand hands touching you, even Jamie's soft hands. Sometimes, when Jamie jostles awake, sweaty and scared and small, she doesn't like you sitting too near her, battling her shadows alone.

"Jamie – " you whimper, flustered. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have – "

Jamie turns her face and kisses you again, stopping you from babbling with her lips. It's warm and long and so sharp you almost taste blood. There is desperation in it, honed and biting, and you let out a surprised gasp that Jamie swallows so willingly. Jamie's hand finds its way beneath your jawline, her thumb tracing bone as she licks into your mouth. With every second that passes, your head is getting fuzzier and fuzzier and Jamie is clinging to you, the air in the bedroom around you growing hot.

You're panting, skin on fire, as you move back, pulling to suck in a much-needed breath. You rest your forehead against Jamie's.

"Are you okay?"

Jamie's finger slide beneath your collarbone t and you draw in a quick, sharp breath.

"Yeah," this time her voice is soft and she smoothes your worry with a quick kiss, pressing her lips to the side of your mouth. "Yeah".

You push a strand of messy curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Jamie's gaze is soft and you draw yourself closer, your stomach testing as you lean in again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

"Nah, s'alright".

You take her hand, link your fingers together, and trace your thumb gently over the back of her hand. Jamie smiles weakly, bringing your conjoined hands up to press a kiss to the back of your palm, over the knuckles. She smells of sex and of soap, a gentle smell that is Jamie in this kind of night, sleepless and exhausted and completely perfect.

"T'was a lot," Jamie says quietly. "I know. Everything that happened, everything…" she trails off and you stay quiet, looking at her without commenting.

"I miss 'em, is all." She says simply.

"I know," you say in a hushed tone. "I miss them, too".

"T'was a lot. The lake, the kids…" Jamie's silent for a few long moments, shifting to prop herself up on her elbow. The sheet falls down from her chest and you catch sight of the small scars that are decorating her skin. Your heart aches.

"Should have stayed the night," Jamie says and there is a quiet rage inside her, eyes glowing with it. You gasp, quietly, and you place your fingers over her lips when she tries to go on.

"Don't say that," tears clog your throat. You had no idea that this was torturing her. She never said anything, never mentioned it outside of your whispered conversations late at night, and even then she stayed strictly on the topic you picked.

"Jamie," you are fighting back tears and by the rapid blinking Jamie does, it's easy to figure she's trying to stay brave and solid, not wanting to cry. "It was my decision. _It was. My. Decision_. God. You couldn't have done anything but get hurt, do you hear me? I'm glad you weren't there".

"Could have – "

"No," you shuffle around until you're mirroring her position, lying on your front and propped up on your elbows. You look her in the eyes. You need her to understand. "No".

Jamie doesn’t say anything, just slumps down onto her front. You gently trace patterns into the smooth skin of her back, spelling out _I love you_ across her spine and shoulder blades, across the rough scar on her right shoulder, until she rolls over to cuddle up to you, burying her face in your neck and winding her arms around your waist.

“You know," Jamie begins quietly, glancing up at you. "I never had a place I could call home. Bly was close enough, I reckoned. The flat above the pub. Hannah and Owen. The garden. But you, Poppins. You're home".

Jamie's isn't one for big speeches, as you came to learn very quickly. Jamie prefers to show you she loves you in little romantic actions and sweet gestures, she prefers to burn pancakes and swat your hand away from teapots and pay attention to every little detail about you, so you’re a little surprised by what she says. You blink away the tears that prick at your eyes, wrapping your arms around her tighter and kissing her forehead, hoping your voice doesn’t sound too emotionally shaky when you speak.

“Technically, I think a home is supposed to be a some _place_ not some _one_ , you know.”

Jamie's already half asleep as she muffles, "Reckon every place where you are, Poppins, is my home, then." Face pressed against your neck. It takes you a while to make out what exactly she says, but eventually, you decipher the words, bitten off by a thick accent, and you hug her tightly, listening to her breath evening out as she drifts back to sleep.

There are things you want to say - an ocean of words like waves behind your teeth, but you can’t open your mouth because it would drown the both of you and Jamie can’t breathe underwater. You settle for something easier. Something safer.

"You are mine too." You whisper.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> English is not my first language, and also I'm rocking ADHD like a MF so please excuse any and every misspellings, mistakes, and other Grammarly atrocities.  
> Also,  
> Come chat with me @ love-jesus-but-i-drink-a-little.tumblr.com


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